


An extraordinary... friendship?

by Herk



Category: Highlander: The Series, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Complete, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 01:52:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9694562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herk/pseuds/Herk
Summary: Immortals live for hundreds, sometimes thousands of years until somehow they lose their heads. Almost no one knows about their existence outside of their own small circle and of course the Watchers.The British Government of course doesn't bear a silly tatoo on his wrists but that doesn't mean he doesn't notice things.





	1. Prologue: What is going on here?

**Author's Note:**

> Not all my crossover ideas are silly. This one isn't.
> 
> I have no idea how many Sherlock fans even remember that not-very-good, 90's show, but Methos is by far my favourite character to include in any crossover and he asks to be included almost as much as the Doctor himself. If you are here because of Mycroft all you need to know is: Immortals are guys who get up after their first death, won't age anymore and won't stay dead until their head is severed from their body. They run around carrying swords killing each other. Oh and they are all sterile foundlings.   
> Watchers are mortals who know about them and chronicle the Immortals' lives. They have a tatoo on their wrists identifying them (yeah not very smart) and don't interfere.   
> Methos is the oldest Immortal of them all and a cynical scholar who loves books more than fighting and hid among the Watchers as one of their researchers for several years. 
> 
> Duncan's just here for the framing.

Duncan hated customs. Through the centuries the amount of controls had only increased and there were less and less ways to cross borders without a ridiculous amount of paperwork - at least if you wanted to take your sword with you. And civilised countries didn’t even have the option of convenient bribes to forego at least some of the formalities.  
He had loved the Schengen treaty. It had made travelling within Europe (or large parts of it) so much easier and more convenient.

But of course the British had opted to stay out of it.

And now he had to visit London to meet with Amanda. Well, his current papers identified him as a Scotsman and as long as his people didn’t vote to leave the UK that made things a lot easier when visiting the British Isles.

That is unless he ran into an overly eager employer of her Majesty who wanted to ensure a small businessman with an amateurish interest in historical weapons wouldn’t overrun the kingdom using the officially declared, beautiful katana in his baggage.

The centuries had taught Duncan patience but after nearly two hours of discussions, waiting, and double checking each and every one of his papers at least twice he was reaching the end of it.

Suddenly the door opened and a man in an immaculate three piece suit entered. He gave a polite, professional nod to the customs man before Duncan.

“Thank you, Mr. Khan, that will be quite enough.”

The change in the eager young man before him was incredible. His face turned serious and he got up quickly. Gone was any sign of distrust and the conviction that he would be the one to finally find evidence of Duncan’s crimes. Khan nodded at the newcomer and left the room without another word. Duncan had the sudden and inevitable feeling that he’d fallen for a surprisingly good actor.

“Good afternoon, Mr. MacLeod. I hope you don’t mind your wait too much.” The man in the suit sat down. His tone and demeanour made it perfectly clear that he didn’t care one iota whether MacLeod minded or not.

Duncan just glared. He had no idea what was going on and he wouldn’t expose anything by speaking out.

After a moment’s pause to give the Scot the opportunity to speak, the man continued.

“Well then - let’s skip the formalities. My name is Mycroft Holmes and I know exactly who and what you are.”

Duncan tensed visibly. The room was small and only had one exit. He was without any kind of weapon and since this was an airport the security was far too tight to try anything rash.

  
“Please relax, Mr. MacLeod. I’m just here for a friendly chat. I have no wish to harm you whatsoever, on the contrary. As a civil servant it’s in my best interest to keep people from coming to harm, especially her Majesty’s subjects. Although you fought very hard back in the day not to become one. Oh please - take a look, no need to try to take a peek.” Holmes showed off his bare wrists one after the other. “I am not as you can see a Watcher. That would only cause problems in the long run - and, yes, I am aware of _that_ as well. As I just said my goal is to keep people from harm. I have briefly contemplated keeping your sword under lock and key but that would leave you without the means to defend yourself in an emergency, therefore it’s something I would hate to have to do. A mutual friend has assured me that you are a man of your word though so I think we can easily avoid such unpleasantries.”

“How?”

“By you giving me your word that you won’t start any fights while on British soil. I really do hate the paperwork connected to sweeping headless corpses under the rug.”

“And that’s all?” Duncan couldn’t believe the turn his life had taken over the last couple of minutes.

“That should be quite adequate for now, Mr. MacLeod.”

Duncan considered his options for a few moments. “I’m not here to cause any problems. I’m not looking for any fights. Consider this my word that I won’t start anything.”

A smile showed on Holmes’ face about as genuine as MacLeod’s current birth certificate.

“Very well then, I believe we’re done here. Someone is already waiting outside exit B to collect you and your things. Please enjoy your stay.” Homes gestured towards the door and MacLeod left to collect his baggage.  
*

Getting out of exit B MacLeod felt the buzz of another Immortal. He started to look around when a familiar voice called out for him.

“Duncan.”

“Methos.”

“Get in the car, Highlander, the parking prices are murderous.”

 

“Do you know a Mycroft Holmes?”

Methos grinned. “In the biblical sense?”

“Methos!”

“Yes, I know him. Have known him for quite some time.”

“And you told him about us? About me?”

The oldest Immortal snorted in amusement. “I _told_ Mycroft nothing. He’s just very, very good at noticing stuff and deducing the right conclusions. How long did you talk with him?”

“Less than five minutes.”

“More than enough for him to figure you out then. You are not all that complicated after all.”

“Methos, who _is_ that man?”


	2. First Encounter - Bucharest

Mycroft Holmes knew more than about 99.99% of the population. He was extremely intelligent, an excellent observer, and he held a position of power with exceptional access to information. He knew that knowledge was power and unlike his brother he never believed in specialising. So for any given secret organisation or special interest group that preferred to operate from the shadows the chance that Mycroft Holmes knew about their existence was actually pretty good. Especially if they also operated within the United Kingdom.

Mycroft was twenty-four when he learned about the Watchers. Or rather that particular group who went by that name. They were a small group, so he didn’t run into one of them sooner but the tattoos were a stupidly obvious thing for a secret group. He judged them to be mostly harmless with their obsession with history and their mostly scholarly attitude but kept his eyes open nevertheless.

He was twenty-five when he finally ran into enough evidence to convince him that they weren’t completely delusional.

The existence of Immortals was an eye opener and for a short period Mycroft was pretty obsessed, spending several months to make sure that this group was indeed as splintered and divided as the Watchers believed them to be. If a group of them ever decided to work together and had the necessary patience they could easily pose a threat to everything he considered important. “The Game” made that pretty improbable though and after going through several of the Watchers’ chronicles he came to the conclusion that all in all the historian society might one day become a relevant threat but not their objects of obsessive study.

Currently Mycroft Holmes was twenty-seven and despite the fact that he hated fieldwork with a passion, thinking of it mostly as a waste of his considerable talents, he was nevertheless stuck in Bucharest at the moment. Officially the Cold War was over. Romania was getting closer to the West by the minute, like so many Eastern European countries. But after the more or less peaceful revolutions throughout the former Warsaw Treaty nations there were still a lot of undesirable elements clinging to power, especially in the shadows. So with the rumours about former Soviet spies trying to recruit British diplomats and intelligence people his bosses had decided that someone discreet and observant was needed to clarify the situation for her Majesty’s government without causing any major international crisis.

After three weeks working in the British embassy Mycroft was reasonably sure that none of the employers had any inappropriate contacts. He should be on his way home. Oftentimes rumours turned out just to be rumours after all. He shuddered at the thought of the amount of work waiting for him at home on his desk. He was also extremely worried what his rebellious little brother would be up to without any kind of regular check-ups by someone who was his intellectual better. But he also was extremely thorough when doing a job - any job, no matter how much he personally despised it. So he couldn’t just ignore the hints concerning a young British student, staying abroad for a semester, who had some suspicious contacts among the former enemy’s ‘retired’ forces.

So right now Mycroft Holmes - wearing inconspicuous jeans, a dark sweater, and an easily disposable ski mask and leather gloves - was quietly trying to open the desk drawer in an unlit study. He knew these clothes were appropriate but nevertheless he wished for his comfortable three piece suit. Sherlock might enjoy dressing up as a member of the unwashed masses but he really, really didn’t.

He had waited until Pierson had gone to bed before breaking into the large flat. A few years had done almost nothing to bring the rent up to Western standards and even a student of limited funds could enjoy a rather generous living arrangement.

When he heard quiet footsteps outside the door Mycroft silently cursed before taking cover inside a closet as quickly and quietly as possible.

Pierson opened the door and immediately switched on the light.

Mycroft forced his breathing to stay shallow and quiet. There was no way the other man knew anyone was here. He had been absolutely quiet and he wasn’t so stupid as to leave the window open or the papers on the desk in any disarray.

Nevertheless something seemed to have triggered a bout of paranoia as Pierson started systematically searching the room. If no miracle happened and happened fast he would find Mycroft within a few minutes. He knew that panic wouldn’t help him but he prepared to make a bolt for it as soon as feasible.

And then a miracle did happen.

Pierson suddenly stopped. Judging by the sound he had turned his focus towards the door. Just when Mycroft wondered what had caught the other man’s attention, he could hear another pair of feet coming close. With Pierson now obviously focused on the newcomer, Mycroft risked a peek through the gap in the closet’s doors.

The man entering was short and heavily built. His dark blonde hair was cut extremely short. Mycroft remembered his face from a briefing: Dimitri Orloff, formerly of the KGB.

Orloff was tense as he kept a wary eye on the lean man before him. In his hand a short and archaic sword obviously just waited to be used. He started speaking in a low Russian growl.

*I should have know it was a trap when someone came asking after that book.*

Pierson held a sword as well, a longer more elegant weapon, but he kept it low, non-threatening only ready to defend himself if necessary.

*No. No trap. I don’t want trouble.*

*Then WHY do you search for that particular text? A mortal wouldn’t know about its real significance but you can’t tell me you are equally clueless.*

*My mortal boss sent me to look for it. He’s a bookworm professor. I’m just keeping up my mortal disguise. I had no idea the tome was currently in the possession of one of us. I would have found a reason not to go.*

*Why would a professor search for it?* Orloff didn’t sound convinced.

*Scientific curiosity? How should I know? He pays me, he’ll grade my dissertation but he’s certainly not worth this kind of trouble. Just keep the book and I’ll tell him the hints all lead to nothing - happens all the time.*

Apparently the non-threatening body language as well as the slight tinge of panic in the voice did the trick. Orloff snorted dismissively. *Cowardly kid.*

A few moments after Orloff had disappeared, Pierson obviously relaxed, putting his sword away and turning his attention back into the study.

“Why don’t you come out? I know you are here and I’m really not in the mood for searching.”

Mycroft knew that Pierson wasn’t bluffing although he was still unsure as to how he could have known. He slowly opened the closet and stepped out.

“Well look at that - an honest to god burglar, complete with ski mask.” Pierson laughed.

Mycroft’s eyes searched for an escape but the man who was obviously an Immortal and not some foreign spy stood between him and every possible exit.

“Now I’m pretty sure this must all seem very strange to you.”

Mycroft’s eyes while scanning the room had noticed something peculiar. He sounded perfectly calm when he spoke next, using Romanian as Pierson had done. “Indeed an Immortal bearing the mark of a Watcher seems strange.”

There was a moment of perfect quiet in which Pierson just stared at him. Then he started to curse in a number of languages Mycroft couldn’t all identify.

“You know far too much for a simple burglar, my friend.” A small but perfectly serviceable pistol had found its way into Pierson’s hand. “Now convince me why I shouldn’t simply kill you.”

An interesting question indeed. Mycroft was just glad that apparently Pierson was among the majority of the human race when it came to killing his fellow human beings in that he really didn’t want to do it. He wanted to be convinced.

“Because if you kill me you would lose a terribly convenient opportunity.” Mycroft strategically switched to English, earning himself a raised eyebrow.


	3. Second Encounter - Shakespeare and Company

Mycroft’s next run-in with Pierson was three months later in Paris. Mycroft didn’t really appreciate that he had to leave his comfortable London office once again but at least it was just a quick hop across the channel. And Pierson was a personal resource, something he wanted to keep off the radar. He didn’t intend to use him excessively but after the history student had tried to escape Mycroft’s attention and avoid fulfilling his part of the deal they’d made, he knew he had to make the Immortal understand that escaping Mycroft Holmes wasn’t at all easy. Pierson would either become one of Mycroft’s secret assets or he would have to leave the Watchers, his current life, his identity, and several of his own hidden resources behind.

Mycroft had spent the last hour in a picturesque Parisian cafe watching the entrance of a small book store. Pierson had entered half an hour ago. Apparently he knew the old owner. Having the confrontation with the Immortal in front of an innocent old man without any knowledge of Immortals would put Holmes at an advantage, so he left his table, putting enough money under the saucer to cover his bill and a generous tip and started crossing the street.

When he entered “Shakespeare and Company” the old man turned away from Pierson to face his new customer. Among the myriad of things Mycroft noticed, two caught his attention as especially important - the owner of the bookshop bore the Watcher tattoo and Pierson’s eyes showed that he recognised him before he had heard his voice.

“Bonjour Monsieur.” The man’s accent made it perfectly clear that English was his native tongue rather than French. Mycroft decided to spare him the embarrassment.

“And a good morning to you, Sir.” Yes, definitely no reaction from Pierson to his voice.

“Ah, a fellow Englishman. What a coincidence, isn’t it Adam?”

“What a coincidence indeed.” Pierson’s smile was pure courtesy, he didn’t show anything of his reaction outwardly. One of the reasons why Mycroft knew he would make a great asset.

“Now is there anything I can I help you find?”

“Oh, I’m just here to have a bit of a look. Finding a primarily English-focused antiquariat in Paris, I simply couldn’t resist. I have a bit of a soft spot for well-preserved, old things.”

“Well, suit yourself. I hope you’ll find one or two things to catch your interest. If there’s anything specific you’re searching for or if you have any questions just let me or Adam know.” The old man was obviously a bit unhappy that his conversation with his young fellow Watcher had been interrupted but also very eager to share his love for beautiful books with another human being.

Mycroft took his time taking a good look around the shop. It was surprisingly well stocked for such a small business. He very much ignored both Watchers while working his way through the bookcases, although he did manage to slip Pierson a small business card with his hotel details. He was curious how the Immortal would react to the address and time.

When he left the small book store almost an hour later, he carried a small beautiful edition of “A Mathematician’s Apology” that would certainly bring joy to his mother as well as an obscure little leather-bound tome that might prove to be of interest to Sherlock.

That evening at eight pm, Mycroft sat in his hotel room with a bottle of red wine that had already spent the required amount of time breathing and two glasses.

It was about 12 minutes after eight when there was a knock on the door to his room. Interesting -- Pierson was posing as a student and a fifteen minute delay was far from unusual in academic circles. Still, Mycroft guessed it had more to do with the fact that Pierson didn’t want to appear overly eager.

“Welcome, Mr. Pierson.”

The look the Immortal shot Mycroft made it very clear what he thought of polite platitudes.

“Let’s cut to the chase. What do you want?”

Holmes smiled. “Would you like a glass of Cabernet, Mr. Pierson?”

Just for a moment it seemed as if the Immortal would snap at him but then he apparently decided differently. He dropped himself onto the small sofa. “Do you have any beer?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Then pass me a glass.”

Pierson took the red from him. He breathed in the bouquet and a small smile played around his lips which only grew wider as he took his first sip. “I don’t know about all of your talents, but apparently you can pick a good wine. In addition to your skills as a burglar and at finding people who aren’t all that interested in you.”

“Thank you. I do take pride in my ability to pick wisely when it comes to different choices of wine.”

Pierson nodded and took another sip. “Now,” he started conversationally, “what does stop me from killing you?”

Mycroft’s own smile was as noncommittal as the Immortals. “You know I asked myself the same question. Especially since you aren’t all that interested in taking me up on my offer to work for me from time to time. I know too much about you. I proved to you that I am able to find you as long as you don’t undertake a lot more extreme measures than trying to hide in a million-people metropole in a different country. I think the answer is quite simple.”

Pierson took another sip of wine. Then he drew out a small but serviceable pistol, casually pointing it at Mycroft in an attempt to make the him nervous. “Enlighten me.”

“You can’t.”

This earned him a raised eyebrow.

“At least not as easily and as permanently as you would need to do. I figured it out Mr. Pierson: the way you knew about my presence back in Bucharest, the way you recognised me today before you heard my voice, despite never seeing my face before.”

Pierson cocked his head slightly. “Oh?”

When faced with Mycroft’s assured smile and “Yes,” the Immortal lost his mocking expression.

“So what now then - you _want_ me to kill you? And then become your teacher?”

“Kill me now? Heavens no. I have far too many important things to do. Some of them require long term planning and won’t be able to be completed until I LOOK old and respectable and therefore some of the more foolish people in power will finally believe that I know what I’m talking about.”

“Then what do you want?” Pierson now sounded a little less annoyed and more genuinely curious.

“The same I wanted before,” Mycroft started, ”a partnership that will benefit both of us in the long run. And I think we should start with a token of trust: my name is Mycroft Holmes. I work for her Majesty’s government and I’m more intelligent than most people you will have met in your life. But I can’t do everything on my own. Or on the book. So I need people with extraordinary skills that I can trust.”

“Like an Immortal - skilled in fighting and willing to kill if necessary?”

Holmes gave a short and dismissive laugh. “I can have assasins by the dozens without a problem. You have obviously lived through several lifetimes. You pose as a student at the moment and by Adam Pierson’s record you are fluent in Latin, Old Greek, and Hebrew. I personally witnessed Russian and Romanian and if French isn’t on the list, I would be severely disappointed. You infiltrated the Watchers and spend your current life as a man of education. You talked your way out of an unexpected confrontation with another Immortal. You are obviously very clever and more interested in staying alive than in any acts of stupid machismo. I need intelligent allies. And having me on your side will make a lot of your future interactions with bureaucracy a lot easier - at least in the United Kingdom.”

“You’re not offering me the Commonwealth?” Pierson sounded vaguely amused.

“Not at this point. Things will certainly change in the future but at this point I can’t make any promises. I’m not asking for much: just a way to contact you if need be and your promise that you will listen when I call. And I always pay my debts.”

Something in Pierson’s attitude shifted. “I’m pretty sure you can find out my number and probably already have. If you out me to the Watchers, or the Watchers to unknowing Immortals, our deal will be off.” He put the gun away again and stood up, downing the last bit of the excellent wine. “Where do I call if I need to give you a forwarding address?”

Mycroft smiled and handed him a card with his initials and private contact data.

“Have a good night, Mr. Pierson.”


	4. Hong Kong

“How good is your Cantonese, Mr. Pierson?”

“And a good day to you too, M.” The Immortal was pretty sure that the nickname would annoy the British politician. It might be petty but he hated being interrupted in the middle of a good novel.

“Please excuse my manners. I have a very tight schedule and assumed it would be prudent to get right to the point. I see now that I was mistaken.”

Adam Pierson was impressed. He didn’t know many people who could convey that amount of passive-aggressive annoyance through a phone. “A little rusty but serviceable, to answer your question by the way.”

“How would you feel about a little trip to Hong Kong?”

Under normal circumstances he would have tried to get out of it. But certain factions within the Watchers had him worried recently. Maybe it wasn’t too bad an idea to make a little trip to another continent. “I might just fit it into my schedule. What do you need?”

 

A little creative lying about some rumours regarding a lost Methos journal spotted in Hong Kong and Adam Pierson was on his way to the British protectorate with his superior’s permission and a small budget to cover his travelling costs. That little detail was one Mycroft Holmes probably appreciated more than any of the other preparations his Immortal agent made. 

The arrival at the airport was easy and uncomplicated. Hong Kong would soon go back to China and the preparations were well underway, but right now it was still under her Majesty’s protection and Adam Pierson - despite living in Paris - was still officially a citizen of the crown. His last time on the Asian continent had been a couple of decades before. It simply wasn’t that easy blending in with the natives if you looked too different and he had always preferred not to stick out too much. Now stepping out of the airport, he took a few moments to drink in the smells and the atmosphere of the place. All around him people hurried back and forth, talking with each other in a variety of languages with English and Cantonese being the predominant ones. A small smile crept around the Immortal’s mouth. If his little mission went as planned, the multicultural nature of this place would hopefully survive the next couple of decades.

Mycroft had given him minimal information but the man currently known as Adam Pierson was no fool. There were always ways to verify or falsify the information you got from a source and ways to gather more, of course. He couldn’t say that he particularly cared about Great Britain, China, politics in general, or the people of Hong Kong. But he did care about himself. And at the moment it looked as if one Mycroft Holmes would be a part of his immediate future too significant to ignore. So learning more about the man, his ideals and motives, might prove paramount to his survival at one point.

He spent the next weeks establishing contact with various people, verifying the facts Holmes had fed him and making just enough enquiries about certain journals to keep up the official pretense for his journey. He would never find the tomes in questions of course. He had them under lock and key in one of his private stashes since the 18th century after all. But appearances were important. After two weeks he was reasonably sure that Sammy Leung Wan-Kai was indeed the very pro-Chinese agent Holmes had described to him. Discrediting him would strengthen the democracy-friendly factions during the negotiations between Britain, China, and Hong Kong herself about the future of this place. The Immortal smiled a wicked smile. He had a couple of very nasty ideas on how to make sure no one would listen to Leung ever again. He decided to celebrate the fact that Holmes was apparently playing with semi-open cards and seemed to be motivated mostly by strong moral beliefs by going out for lunch.

He didn’t expect to run into another Immortal while stuck in between dozens of people in a small restaurant. Fleeing was not an option so he went for the second best option, not showing any outward signs of feeling the ‘buzz’. Even if that went against all his instincts. Most Immortals were absolutely helpless in pinpointing the exact source of another Immortal’s presence. In a cramped environment like this not even the most skilled one would be able to identify him as long as he didn’t give himself away by looking around paranoidly. Unless of course they already knew him.

“Old One, what an honour to be in your presence once again.”

The voice of an old woman calling out, speaking the Minjiang dialect. Not too obvious but a good choice to ensure with almost certainty that no one would understand them. He turned around to face Qing Daiju - a woman he knew to be at least two and a half millennia old, with the body of a small but healthy woman in her late 60s. He immediately bowed down to show his respect. It might be considered old-fashioned but he knew Daiju to be a traditionalist.

“Honourable Lady, it’s been too long since we last met.”

She bowed before him, deeper than he had, acknowledging his greater age and therefore his worthiness of respect. 

“Unexpected pleasures are a rare and valued treasure. Would you do me the honour of being my guest tonight in my humble home, Old One?”

Inwardly he cursed his bad luck. It would be catastrophic if her Watcher reported on him. On the other hand it simply wouldn’t do to pass on her invitation. Mme Qing was one of the deadliest Immortals to have as an enemy and she knew who he was. “The honour would be entirely mine, Daiju.”

She hid her smile behind her hand, lowering her eyes coyly. His use of her given name was inappropriately intimate for the circumstances but she could hardly judge the elder for his choices. She passed him a small card with her address and left after giving the necessary goodbyes.

Adam Pierson spent the rest of the day hunting down an appropriate guest offering. He really, really, really didn’t want to anger the old spider. Daiju had learned early on that real power didn’t come with a sword’s edge but with information and contacts. And she’s had millennia to work on her web of favours and contacts. Adam often thought that the whole game was senseless from the get go. No Immortal who was clever enough to survive a century or more would be so stupid as to try and go after Mme Qing. And the young hotheaded ones stood less chance than a candle flame during a hurricane. It was a good thing Qing Daiju was civilised and had no interest in fighting and killing her own kind unless she was severely insulted.

When he arrived a servant beckoned him in. Qing Daiju didn’t believe in putting up a poor facade and whatever else happened tonight, he knew that he was in for an evening as pleasant and luxurious as anyone could wish for. He was lead into the inner sanctum. No one asked for his sword or even tried to take his coat. Daiju expected him. She wore opulent traditional robes and he couldn’t help but feel underdressed in her presence. She held her own sword in her hands, presenting the ancient intricate weapon to him.

“Welcome into my home, Oldest, as my honoured guest. Rest assured that tonight no weapon will be necessary and let us cast aside all thoughts of violence.” She made tiny steps until she reached a table at the far right hand side of the room, and laid down her sword, clearly out of reach of the table already waiting for them.

He bowed deeply. “I thank you for your generous invitation and your gracious welcome of my humble self. It would be a dark day when such hospitality would be repaid in violence.” He pulled out his own sword and presented it to her the same way she had done. “May the gods give that there will never be such a dark day during our lifetimes, honoured lady.” When her nod indicated the acceptance of his words he turned right, walked over and put his sword beside hers. He was very well aware of the fact that he probably wasn’t the only one with a back-up weapon in the room but those were for emergencies. He didn’t plan on using it unless absolutely necessary and he currently bet his life on the fact that she wouldn’t either.

Once that part of the formalities was over, they both sat down and she poured him some tea.

“It’s been far too long, Methos. I missed our talks.”

He smiled, hiding any anxiety he felt. Although he had noticed a Watcher tattoo on one of the servants he knew it had been over 500 years since one of Qing’s Watchers had reported anything in their journal without getting her explicit permission first. The Watcher's oath held less weight here. The wishes of a being of such age and wisdom were far more important than mere mortal rules. All he had to do was ask her at an opportune moment to keep his visit and especially his name a secret. Still he had made sure to wear sleeves long enough to cover his own tattoo from the servant as well as Qing Daiju.

They spent a pleasant evening talking, catching up on common acquaintances, exchanging courteous pleasantries and enjoying an absolutely breathtaking meal. Qing Daiju wouldn’t stand for anything but being the perfect host. Methos offered kind regards to her from Rebecca and Darius, both highly respected senior members of their community and she gave him some hints on Immortals that had escaped the Watchers for the moment but still might be of interest to him. Only when they had finished the meal and the evening was getting rather late did she comment on his reason for visiting Hong Kong.

“I heard you’re searching after some of your lost journals. I always keep my ears and eyes open when it comes to books regarding one of us, yet I haven’t heard any rumours about them being here. What hints did you follow, Old One?”

He contemplated lying for the fraction of a moment. He decided that would be bad manners under the circumstances though.

“The ones I laid myself, Madame. I used the books as an excuse to travel here to keep my true goals from any prying eyes.”

Qing Daiju nodded her approval. “Your wisdom shows in your decision as always, Old One.”

Methos decided that he owed her for her courtesy and it wouldn’t do to stay in her debt. “Tell me, Daiju, do you have any dealings with the mortal Sammy Leung Wan-Kai?”

“I have heard of him,” she acknowledged, “but he is of no personal interest to me.”

Methos took a sip of his Luzhou Laojiao. “Good. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you by interfering in your business.”

“So you have business with him?” Daiju couldn’t help herself. She lived and breathed information that one day might become profitable.

“He has insulted me. And I won’t let that go unpunished.”

Her eyes narrowed. She knew him well enough to know this was a highly unlikely thing for him to do. But she would never insult a guest by calling him out on his lie. “What kind of punishment do you have in mind?”

So he told her. In detail. There were many ways to destroy a man’s reputation and make his position indefensible. And in 5000 years Methos had learned a lot of them. He wasn’t planning on something too elaborate though. Keeping the plan simple would lessen the possibility of anything going wrong.

Daiju smiled. “An elegant way to destroy a man without even laying a finger on him. May I suggest that you plant your ‘information’ with the Sing Pao Daily News? An article smearing his name in a paper that’s on his side politically will hold an even greater weight. I know a man working there who would look favourable on any information he’d receive from a trustworthy source.”

“A source recommended to him by a respected and honourable member of the community?”

She smiled in agreement.

 

Even with Qing Daijuu’s help it took a few days to have the article published. The information had to be nominally verified and the publisher convinced. But once the newspaper hit the street Leung was a man of the past. No one would listen to man caught red-handed in deep corruption that apparently served to finance his obsession with Caucasian underage girls.


	5. Developments

When Methos returned to Paris and visited a certain church to give Madame Qing’s regards to an old friend he found the friend gone - killed on holy ground without any signs of a Quickening. Adam Pierson informed his superior with the watchers, Don Salzer, that he had a pretty hot trail from Hong Kong to London and travelled on.

 

“Interesting, Mr. Pierson.” Mycroft studied the man before him. The most telling part to him was the fact that the Immortal had decided to come to him in this situation. He didn’t think that ‘Pierson’ was the trusting type so apparently the man was quite desperate.

“Darius was a man of peace, hiding from fights on holy ground. And still some mortals thought it necessary to kill him.”

“Not many people know how to kill an Immortal.”

“Which is exactly why I thought it prudent to take a vacation. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out this might be related to the Watchers. I don’t think my cover is blown and I’d hate to give up on Adam Pierson if it wasn’t absolutely necessary but I didn’t survive this long by throwing caution to the wind,”

Mycroft leaned back in his armchair. Since he’d learned that one day he would join the ranks of the Immortals, he had taken a far greater interest in any information regarding them and the Watchers. So he had heard a couple of rumours naturally.

“I can’t say for sure because the British cells of Watchers refuse to have a part in this but there are factions within your organisation who bought into the narrative that all Immortals are a danger to ‘normal’ human beings.”

Pierson sighed. He had heard whispers but no one had contacted him directly. What use could a studious bookworm be in the fight against evil?

“As far as I can tell the origins of that little sub-cult lie within the American branch although I doubt the head of North America would sympathise.”

“Dawson - yeah that’s unlikely. I met him once or twice and he’s far to down-to-earth for that kind of fanaticism.”

“France might have a few allies for the cause. There have been a couple of field agents transferring over from America who would be prime candidates for recruitment. So far this seems to be a very localised problem. But with the natural flow of Watchers following their wards all over the world it might spread. Sadly I’m lacking a completely trustworthy source within the Watchers for more reliable information.

The Immortal contemplated Mycroft’s words then nodded. “If I’ll be your source within the French Watchers, I will need an out. A cover identity ready to be taken over in case Pierson gets blown. And some nice little reason why I would start to visit the United Kingdom on short notice. And some kind of monetary compensation.”

“Aunt Letitia - the elderly woman Adam Pierson grew up with,” Mycroft demonstrated that he’d done his homework regarding the Pierson persona. “The poor lady’s health is declining in her old age and she sometimes has the need for her favourite nephew. Any kind of monetary compensation is out of the question though. This is as much in your interest as it is in mine if not more so. And money appearing in Adam Pierson’s bank account would need a very thorough explanation as to not raise suspicion.”

A small smile on Pierson’s face, the man shrugged. “You can’t blame a man for trying.”

“I don’t. I will have a cover identity ready for you when you need it.”  
*

“Interesting decision.” Mycroft watched the Immortal taking a sip of the tea provided by his host.

“You do know, I prefer beer.”

“It’s 11AM, a cup of hot beverage will raise less eyebrows. And Aunt Letitia certainly wouldn’t approve.”

Pierson snorted. He had always thought he was the king of keeping appearances when it came to identities but Mycroft’s obsession with details had taught him better. “So you don’t agree with Kalas being imprisoned?”

“On the contrary. The man is a maniac and a murderer, he belongs in prison until such a point as he can be rehabilitated. It’s just a curious choice for someone as old as yourself.”

“Stop fishing, Mycroft.”

“I was just referring to the Immortal population in general. Your people are quite archaic when it comes to their ideas of justice.”

“Those of us who are clever survive and adapt - just not as quickly as mortals. But it’s mostly necessity anyway. We don’t want to get exposed and a man in prison for twenty or thirty years without aging wouldn’t go unnoticed.”

“So what are your plans?”

“For the next decade? Let him rot. He’s old enough that ten years more or less won’t immediately raise suspicion. And I LIKED Don Salzer. He was a good man and a friend. After that, hopefully MacLeod will have learned enough to easily take his head when he gets loose on a prison transfer or something. Otherwise I might need to interfere more directly.  
What about your plans, Mycroft?”

“My career is coming along nicely. I think in one to two decades I will be exactly where I want to be, depending on how much my annoying brother’s problems keep getting in the way.”

“You know, a lot of people get thrown off by learning they are adopted.”

Mycroft shrugged. “There have been certain hints when one knows genetics. Nothing definite but the family resemblance is far greater between Sherlock and my father than me. I contemplated my mother’s unfaithfulness when I was nine and studied Sherlock’s looks in comparison to old baby photos in the family album. As far as alternative explanations go I rather prefer this one. My parents apparently wanted a child and when they were told they couldn’t have one, adopted me. It also explains mother’s extreme dotting over Sherlock. Having a biological child after over a decade of believing you’re barren has quite the effect on the psyche. They did their best and they certainly don’t treat me any differently than if I had been their biological child. So what relevance does the fact that I’m a foundling hold? My mother is my mother, my father is my father, and my brother is an annoying twat.”

Pierson laughed. “You know I think I’m looking forward what will happen once you are ‘where you want to be’. Things could get interesting.”

Mycroft shuddered. “I certainly hope not. Interesting would mean I wouldn’t be doing my job right.”


	6. Epilogue

Duncan studied the man next to him in the driver’s seat. “You’ve known and worked with that man for two decades now?”

“Incredible as it may sound. MacLeod, but I do have a life outside of yours. Mycroft is interesting to be around, we are of use to each other and although in the long run he might prove to be a problem with that brain of his, so far he has gotten me in far fewer difficulties than you have. Plus he doesn’t go around beheading old friends.”

“Does he know who you are?”

“Oh certainly. I haven’t got the slightest when he figured it out, but he surely knows.”

“What will happen when he gets Immortal?”

“I had contemplated sending him your way to train for about five minutes. But I highly doubt he would go for it. I’m pretty convinced he has his own plans and own schedule. The only thing keeping him from initiating the change right now are his responsibilities for Queen, country, and Sherlock. Once he decides his mortality and aging has less advantages than disadvantages he’ll kill himself in a heartbeat. And then… who knows.”


End file.
